


This Time

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comment Fic, Community: stxi_sinfest, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I've got nothing left to say/Just take me away."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/stxi_sinfest/4220.html?thread=605564#t605564) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/stxi_sinfest/profile)[**stxi_sinfest**](http://community.livejournal.com/stxi_sinfest/). Summary taken from the lyrics (Lifehouse's "Take Me Away") provided by the prompt.

Jim expects Bones to grumble about 'damn fool decisions' and 'could have got yourself killed' and 'I won't always be around to fix you up, Jim,' but what he gets is steely silence, the same steely silence he's received since the last several missions.

Jim can't even think of the man running the scans as Bones anymore; it's Doctor McCoy through and through. They feel like strangers, and Jim can't help but wonder if maybe he skipped realities again, if the transporter malfunctioned somehow and he's not where he's supposed to be. He doesn't feel much better when McCoy steps out of Jim's reach and gruffly tells him that he and Spock are cleared for duty.

"Guess that means I'm stuck here, huh?" Green says from the next biobed.

"You're lucky you're not dead," McCoy says. The tone is cold, locked up with an anger that Jim hasn't encountered in years, not since their Academy days when Jim and Bones got into some big fight over something Jim had done—again—and McCoy had socked Jim so hard, Jim actually hit the ground.

The sense memory has Jim rubbing his jaw because that left hook had surprised him. Medical officers weren't exactly combat trained, but Jim knew some instructors who would have been damn proud of the punch McCoy threw that night.

With a shake of his head, Jim swings his legs over the side of the biobed and glances at Green's sober expression. He takes pity on the guy because not everyone is used to McCoy's bedside manner—or considerable lack of one. So Jim parts his lips to try for a lighthearted quip, to tell McCoy to take it easy on the kid while letting Green know that McCoy's crankiness is just part of his demeanor and there's a cuddly center in McCoy somewhere. Something funny that will surely earn him one of McCoy's well-known glares of death because that would be a thousand times better than this silent treatment.

McCoy looks at Jim, and Jim feels his mouth slipping into a smile, because at least it's something, and then the words die in Jim's throat when McCoy makes an about face and gives Jim his back.

There's nothing for Jim to do but accept it for what it is: 'Get the hell out of my sickbay.'

So he does.

~*~

Jim is taking a nap in his quarters because exploring strange new worlds and pissing off the locals despite his best efforts to the contrary is exhausting work. He sleeps restlessly, dreaming of what ifs and could have beens and almosts in an endless loop of should've, could've, would've that he's _relieved_ to be woken by the beep announcing someone at the door requesting permission to enter.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Jim walks to the door, and before his relief can register through his sleep-fogged brain, he hears Bones whisper, "Goddamn it," right before Bones' lips crush Jim's in a hard kiss.

Then they're stumbling back into Jim's room, and Jim's backpedaling so fast that his foot slips, and he's falling. His body instinctively braces for it, because there's no way he can roll with Bones pressed against his body like this, but Bones jerks on Jim's arms and makes the landing a little less painful. It still hurts, especially with Bones' weight crushing him into the ground, but Jim's soft oomph is quickly followed by an encouraging moan as he snakes his arms around Bones' neck and says, "Stay," without breaking their kiss completely.

But Bones is already pulling away, and despite Bones' scowl, Jim can see that softness in Bones' eyes, filled with worry but obviously pissed off, too. Jim grins because he can't help it, and he laughs when Bones lays into him, when in between each 'you bastard' and 'don't ever,' Bones is kissing him, rough and messy and fierce, and they're tearing off each other's clothes, actually ripping the fabric in their haste.

Jim doesn't care, though, not when Bones is kissing Jim like he's an erupting volcano, molten, merciless, burning Jim up. Jim makes a desperate, needy sound low in his throat when Bones' teeth find his pulse, and he scratches his nails over Bones' shoulder blades, thrusting his hips up to rub his cock against the sweat-damp skin of Bones' stomach.

Bones is talking, broken words marked into Jim's skin, his teeth dragging over Jim's collarbone, down to his chest, snagging a nipple. The sharp sting is immediately followed by the warm glide of Bones' tongue.

And then they're kissing again, wet and hurried, and Bones murmurs more words against Jim's mouth, thrusts them in with his tongue, Jim's tongue tangling an 'okay' somewhere in there or an 'I promise.' He can't be sure when there's all this heat and need, his legs locked around Bones' waist like that can keep him here.

"Jim," Bones says, and the rest of the words are buried against Jim's shoulder when Jim rocks up again.

"Come on, Bones," Jim murmurs, reaching between his legs so he can wrap his fingers around Bones' dick and rub the tip against his hole.

He wants this—they both _want this_—but Bones is pulling back, away, and Jim is scrambling up to catch him.

"Damn it, Jim, not like this," Bones growls and flips Jim onto his stomach.

Jim's heart stutters, and he scrambles onto all fours, biting off a groan when he feels Bones' spit-slick fingers sliding between his ass cheeks. But in the next second, Jim is pushing back onto air. He cranes his neck in search of Bones, finding him standing in front of Jim's desk with his fists planted on the surface and his shoulders hunched.

"Don't move," Bones says, voice gruff, and Jim stays right where he is, silently waiting.

Jim counts to twenty in Standard Andorian in his head before Bones comes back with a muttered, "Damn it," and settles behind Jim, his broad hands cupping Jim's ass. Jim breathes out a hopeful moan, only to suck in that same breath when Bones slides one finger in, slick and smooth with lube. Jim wants to say a lot of things like how it's okay, how hot Bones is when he's pissed, but Bones thrusts, stretches Jim with two fingers and finds the swell of Jim's prostate until Jim can't think past the blood rushing to his dick.

Jim chokes on a moan when he feels the rub of Bones' cock against his entrance, right next to the thickness of Bones' fingers, but he pushes back for it, for more, for everything.

Bones murmurs something too soft for Jim to hear (not that Jim's really heard anything Bones has said thus far) and pulls his fingers out. Jim's breath hitches, his shoulders dropping, his forehead pressed to the floor when Bones starts pushing in, slow, oh so fucking slowly.

With a frustrated, needy sound, Jim reaches back to grip Bones' thigh, his nails digging into the meaty muscle, and then Jim shoves back until he can feel Bones pressed against his ass. Bones' forehead drops in the space between Jim's shoulder blades, and Jim sucks in a breath he nearly chokes on, the wild thump of his heart pretty much an insistent, 'what the fuck?'

Fortunately, though, Bones doesn't ask Jim if he's okay or if it's too much or 'Good God, man, are you _insane_?' Bones knows, and he knows the answer is yes, yes, and yes, and he fucks Jim without the stupid questions to get them there.

Both of Jim's hands drop back to the ground, his blunt nails digging into the hard surface as the adrenaline rushes through his body, giving his system the endorphins he needs to flood his nerves with pleasure and heat and desire.

Bones fucks Jim _hard_, and Jim can't stop driving his hips back to meet each savage thrust until his arms are so shaky that he has to drop his elbows to the ground. The sharp change in angle makes him moan, a broken, choked sound that he buries into the cradle of his arms. Each brutal stroke is fucking perfect, the slap of their skin, the bite of Bones' nails in Jim's hips, even the ache developing in Jim's knees, where he knows the skin is probably scraping off.

None of that matters, though, just Bones stretching him wide and fucking him open until Jim can feel the sweat rolling down his skin and all these crazy, low sounds are coming out of his mouth trying to be words.

When Jim comes, it's to the sound of his own strangled moans and the blood rushing in his ears so fast it makes them ring. Jim's muscles become limp, and he feels like a rag doll as Bones continues to fuck him, thrust after thrust until Bones shoves in hard and climaxes on a sound Jim's never heard come out of Bones' mouth before.

The bruising grip Bones has on Jim's hips eases, and Jim collapses to the floor, Bones tumbling after. They lay in a haphazard pile of tangled limbs, the room filled only with the sound of their ragged breathing, Jim's muscles loose and sore, his knees and elbows flushed an angry red and already throbbing.

Each hard beat of his heart feels good, though, but Jim doesn't focus on it for long, not when the warm, sweat-slick weight of Bones' limbs are pulling away.

Jim swallows past the dryness in his throat and reaches out a hand. "Hey—"

"No," Bones says, his tone clipped as he tugs on what's left of his clothes, his back to Jim.

Jim tries a smile as he sits up. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"Keep it that way."

"Bones—"

"Goddamn it, Jim, _no_." When Bones turns, his eyes are dark and narrowed, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Jim pushes himself up and onto his feet, and he is definitely sore. Before Bones can go into doctor mode, though, Jim curls a hand around the back of Bones' neck and tells him, "I'm alive."

"This time."

"Yeah."

Bones squeezes his eyes shut, and Jim lets him have his moment, gently stroking the tips of his fingers up and down Bones' nape. Everything they do is wordless, and Jim's grateful for the things they don't have to say to each other. Even unvoiced, it's still there, in the curl of Bones' fingers around Jim's forearm, in the slide of Jim's fingers down Bones' chest.

They break contact at the same time, Bones to retrieve his shirt and Jim to sit on the bed.

This silence isn't so bad; it doesn't leave Jim on the crest of something unnamed, waiting, holding his breath until he drops. Fully dressed, Bones looks at him.

Jim smiles; Bones scowls, and everything is spinning in its proper orbit again.


End file.
